Shall we never behold the realization of that sublime dream which is sung on Sundays in the smallest village church: Gloria in excelsis Deo et in terra pax hominibus bonæ voluntatis! If war affected humanity alone, perhaps the future would have peace in store for us, seeing that generous minds are working for it with might and main; but the scourge also rages in the brute, which, in its obstinate way, will never listen to reason. Once the evil is laid down as a general condition, it perhaps becomes incurable. Life in the future, there is every cause to fear, will be what it is to-day, a perpetual massacre. Whereupon, by a desperate effort of the imagination, one pictures to one’s self a giant capable of juggling with the planets. He is irresistible strength; he is also law and justice. He knows of our battles, our butcheries, our farm-burnings, our town-burnings, our brutal triumphs; he knows our explosives, our shells, our torpedo-boats, our iron-clads and all our cunning engines of destruction; he knows as well the appalling extent of the appetites among all creatures, down to the very lowest. Well, if that just, that mighty one held the earth under his thumb, would he hesitate whether he ought to crush it? He would not hesitate. He would let things take their course. He would say to himself: “The old belief is right; the earth is a rotten nut, gnawed by the vermin of evil. It is a barbarous essay, a painful stage towards a kindlier destiny. Let it be: order and justice are waiting at the end.” CHAPTER XVI THE HALICTI: THE PORTRESS The home dug by the solitary Bee in early spring remains, when summer comes, the joint inheritance of the members of the family. There were ten cells, or thereabouts, underground. Now from these cells there have issued none but females. This is the rule among the three species of Halicti. They have two generations in each year. That of the spring consists of females only; that of the summer comprises both males and females, in almost equal numbers. The household, therefore, if not reduced by accidents, especially by the famine-producing Gnat, would consist of half-a-score of sisters, nothing but sisters, all equally industrious and all capable of procreating without a nuptial partner. On the other hand, the maternal dwelling is no hovel; far from it: the entrance-gallery, the principal room of the house, will serve very well, after a few odds and ends of refuse have been swept away. This will be so much gained in time, ever precious to the Bee. The cells at the bottom, the clay cabins, are also nearly intact. To make use of them, it will be enough to freshen up the stucco with the polisher of the tongue. Well, which of the survivors, all equally entitled to the succession, will inherit the house? There are six of them, seven, or more, according to the chances of mortality. To whose share will the maternal dwelling fall?